Chapter 6
Shocked by his own actions and tone of voice, Àdham released thirty-three-year-old Alan, Earl of Caithness, but he continued to hold his gaze as he waited to discover how Caithness would react. That nearly everyone around them was staring at them did not trouble him. He was concerned only about Caithness.
To his relief, Caithness turned to Lady Fiona and said ruefully, “I beg your pardon, your ladyship. I should not have put my hand on ye, but ye slipped away just as I was coming to tell ye that your lord father has left for the evening.”
Without so much as acknowledging Àdham’s presence, he added, “Ormiston asked me to tell ye that the lady Rosalie is longing for her bed. So, he and Buccleuch are escorting her to the house Buccleuch has taken in South Street.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fiona said. “I confess, I do not know who you are.” Turning to Sir Àdham, she said, “Perhaps you will present him to me properly, sir.”
Grimacing, as rueful now as Caithness was, Àdham said, “I wish I could claim that I do so with pleasure, my lady. However, since he likely wants my head for clouting him just now, I will say as politely as possible that this gentleman is Alan, Earl of Caithness. He is also, I am even sorrier to say, his grace’s close cousin and the younger son of Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl and Strathearn.”
“Mercy!” Fiona exclaimed as she swept the handsome earl a deep curtsy. “But, surely, you do not mean to demand Sir Àdham’s head, my lord.”
“I do not,” Caithness said, laughing as he rubbed his jaw. “I’m only glad he recognized me soon enough to slow his punch, Lady Fiona, or I’d be seeking my teeth on the floor. As for the aspersions he cast on my apparel . . .” He glowered at Àdham. “I’d wager my hose, jacket, and cap cost more than your entire wardrobe.”
“Then you wasted your gelt,” Àdham retorted. “Moreover, that clothing makes you resemble the lout who accosted her ladyship here three nights ago. Had I known you were in town, I might have recognized you. I cannot say that even then I’d have been certain. When did you acquire such curly hair?”
“Sakes, Àdham, ye must have seen that it has become the fashion. Ye look as if ye’ve just come in from the wild, though. We must polish ye up, I think.”
Well aware that she was part of a scene that both Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly were sure to condemn, and grateful that her father had left the hall, Fiona was nonetheless, albeit secretly, pleased that Sir Àdham had leaped so swiftly and vigorously to her defense. Watching him hastily straighten the blue-green plaid he still wore, wondering how he might react to Caithness’s suggestion that he needed polish, she discerned a surprising glint of amusement when he began shaking his head at his friend.
Then Sir Àdham looked at her and smiled. The smile was still a bit rueful, but it reminded her of how reassuring it could be and how white and even his teeth were. He was definitely of finer character than many of the men she had met with the court. So far, he seemed to be a man of his word, too. Just then, his smile widened, alerting her to the fact that she was staring at him.
With a flutter of unease, she looked to see if anyone else had taken notice and realized that, although any number of people had seen Sir Àdham knock Caithness down, most of them had returned their attention to the entertainers. The crowd around them was so thick that she could not see the ladies’ table, let alone Lady Sutherland or Lady Huntly.
However, from the raised dais, the King of Scots was looking right at her.
Beside him, Douglas of Dalkeith, another of the King’s trusted advisers and a close friend of Ormiston’s and Buccleuch’s, also watched them.
Clearing her throat, Fiona said as calmly as she could to Sir Àdham, “We have drawn his grace’s eye, sir. I must return to Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly.”
Sir Àdham and Caithness stared at her and then at each other.
“If Jamie witnessed that scene, he’ll be gey wroth with both of us if we tell him the truth of it,” Caithness said. “We must concoct a nobler tale.”
Astonished and without thinking, Fiona said, “You would lie to the King?”
“Aye, sure,” Caithness said. “Jamie is nobbut three years older than I am, after all. And truth is but one man’s view of an event, nae matter how many have seen it. None of these others watches us now, so we can forget them. What d’ye say, Àdham? I expect we must escort her ladyship back to her table afore we conspire.”
Sir Àdham said evenly, “We will see her ladyship restored to her table, Alan, but we will not make up a tale to tell his grace. If he demands an explanation, we’ll tell him the truth. Since he is deep in conversation with Dalkeith, I think we would be wise to await such a summons and not interrupt him now.”
“Art afeard that our Jamie will rebuke ye, Àdham? Ye’ve likely never met him, but I ken him fine. Dinna fear that I’ll abandon ye.”
“Your lordship is mistaken on all points,” Àdham said in the same even tone. “I fear naught, for it was his grace himself who knighted me after Lochaber.”
“Mayhap ye told me that, but I wasna even there, m’self,” Caithness said with a sigh as he gestured for two men ahead of them to stand aside. Then, moving past Fiona and Àdham to clear the way, he added over his shoulder, “I was fain to go, but my lord father forbade it. I think he resigned the Caithness earldom to me as his apology for keeping me from taking part in that splendid victory.”
Àdham touched Fiona’s shoulder, urging her forward through the now courteously parting crowd, as he said to Caithness, “It was not so splendid, sir. More accurately, it resulted in vile and bloody carnage.”
“Perhaps,” Caithness replied over Fiona’s head. “But I’m nae feardie. And I must prove myself if I’m ever to win my knighthood. An earldom that one’s blood-royal father resigns to one out of his many titles is as nowt to winning one’s spurs.”
“I am sure that you will win yours, my lord,” Fiona said with a smile, deciding that she liked the charming young earl.
Àdham noted with amusement the sudden blush in Caithness’s cheeks but said naught to suggest his belief that her ladyship was just being polite.
The crowd parted enough to reveal that two of her grace’s older ladies sat alone at the ladies’ table. Àdham was relieved to see them, but Caithness said abruptly, “If I’m not to tell tales, Àdham, I must leave ye here. The younger of those two is Lady Sutherland, Joanna’s mistress of robes, and I do not want to hear what she’ll say if she saw me accost Lady Fiona afore ye knocked me down.”
“I doubt that she was able to see that, my lord,” Lady Fiona said.
“I agree with that, Alan,” Àdham said. “Moreover, I should tell you that I borrowed your horse to come here from Blair, but I’ve kept it safe.”
“I ken fine that ye’ve got him, and welcome,” Caithness said, casting another look around. “But, I’m away. I willna give Lady Sutherland my head for washing.”
“What a thing to say!” Fiona said to Àdham with a chuckle as Caithness melted into the crowd. “I think he is perfectly charming, though, and gey handsome. Would Lady Sutherland dare to scold him?”
“She would more likely warn you that he does not always behave himself, even with powerful noblemen’s daughters,” he replied with a wry smile and a barely discernible edge to his voice.
Cocking her head slightly, she raised her eyebrows and said, “Indeed, sir? Methinks that my noting his lordship’s charms has irked you. But, prithee, do not frown at me, for I do know that I owe you my thanks for coming so swiftly and chivalrously to my rescue. You have done so now twice, and although I did not require your aid either time, I— Faith,” she added when he began slowly shaking his head, “do you dispute my word?”
“You know I do not,” he said, extending an arm to her. “Would you like me to restore you to your guardian ladies now, or—”
“Mercy,” Fiona interjected, “I can see Lady Huntly, and she is irked. I must go at once, sir. I do thank you, but I still think Caithness is charming.”
Looking over her shoulder as Lady Huntly whisked her away, she saw that Sir Àdham still watched her, looking a bit dazed. She grinned at him.
Having no further interest in the evening’s festivities, Àdham decided to return to the alehouse. Emerging from Parliament Close into the High Street, he nearly bumped into Gilli Roy, who was apparently also heading that way. He wore his particolored hose and linen shirt again, along with a plumed, light-colored hat atop his smartly curled red hair.
“I want a word with you, lad,” Àdham said.
“I saw you talking with Ormiston’s daughter,” Gilli retorted. “I hoped you might sleep again at Ormiston House.”
Feeling his temper stir, Àdham tamped it down and said quietly, “How do you come to recognize Ormiston’s daughter?”
Even in the dim light of the flambeaux that lit the walkway, he saw color suffuse Gilli Roy’s cheeks. But the lad shrugged again, saying, “She is pretty. Also, you told me yourself that she serves her grace, so men do talk about her.”
“And accost her,” Àdham said, giving him a stern look. “What more can you tell me about that churl who approached her so rudely Tuesday night?”
“I told you all that I know! His name is Hew and he speaks the Gaelic and Scots.” Before Àdham could reply, he added, “You must care about that lass, aye?”
“That lady’s father is one of the King’s close advisers, so I suggest that you speak respectfully of her or not at all.”
“Aye, Ormiston of Ormiston. Did he present her to you?”
“I met him the night I arrived, on the Inch near town,” Àdham said glibly. “When I told him I was meeting kinsmen here at the alehouse, he invited me to take wine with him first at his house. Later, he told me that the alehouse was noisy and invited me to spend the night. It was a kindness. What else did you see tonight?”
“I saw you hit Caithness, if that’s what you mean.”
“I mistook him for your uncivil friend,” Àdham said, mentally cursing that act again. “Caithness will expect you to keep the incident to yourself, and so do I.”
Staring upward, Gilli said, “I heard people cry out when they saw it, so I expect the whole town will know of it by morning.”
“Perhaps,” Àdham said, although he did not recall any outcry. His attention had fixed first on the hand gripping Lady Fiona’s arm and then on his having floored Caithness instead of the lout from Tuesday night. “You had better hope that I don’t hear about it from anyone you have told.”
Gilli shrugged. “I just want to go home.”
Accustomed to his uncertain moods, Àdham changed the subject, but Gilli’s comment about people crying out when he’d floored Caithness echoed disturbingly.
Having experience enough with the royal court to know that everything occurring within or near it fueled hearsay, rumor, and gossip that spread fast, Fiona had slept fitfully. Awaking reluctantly Saturday morning to the sound of her door shutting and quick steps to the bed, she blinked.
“Were there a fight over ye yestereve, m’lady, during the entertainment?”
“Good sakes,” Fiona murmured, blinking again, as the last remnants of sleep fled and she saw Leah hovering over her, awaiting an answer.
Irritated but scarcely astonished, Fiona drew a breath to cool her temper, then sat up, saying, “There was no fight, Leah. If you heard such a thing, someone has evidently tried to build a trifling incident into a shocking event. That is all.”
“Then, will ye tell me what did happen, so I can tell folks the truth of it?”
“I’ll tell you only that a man I did not know put his hand on me and another man dissuaded him. But I forbid you to talk of this, Leah. If anyone asks you about it, you can honestly say that I was in no danger and that naught of import occurred.”
With a nod, but nonetheless persistently, Leah added, “They did say that the man what got knocked down were the Earl o’ Caithness and that he spoke your name.”
Suppressing a sigh, Fiona said, “I will not discuss this further, Leah. There was no fight, and I was not in danger. Prithee, say no more and do not encourage others to discuss it. If I hear that you have behaved otherwise, I shall be most dis—”
“Nae, then, m’lady, I won’t,” Leah assured her hastily.
Leah had served her for years, and Fiona had enough faith in her to believe she would obey her. However, if Leah had heard about the incident, little hope remained that Lady Sutherland had not.
Dressing carefully, Fiona went downstairs and learned straightaway that Lady Sutherland wanted to see her and would send for her when she had broken her fast.
Finding Malvina and Sarah Douglas, one of the other two maids of honor, alone at the refectory table reserved for them, Fiona greeted them as she took her place and reached for a manchet loaf in one basket and then an apple from another.
As she did, Sarah quietly excused herself.
Using her eating knife, Fiona began to slice the apple into quarters, but Sarah’s skirts had barely cleared the nearest doorway when Malvina leaned closer and said breathlessly, “Is it true, Fiona? Did a giant Highlander really knock the Earl of Caithness on his backside last night because Caithness accosted you after you left me? Oh, prithee, tell me everything, for I saw none of it.”
Sighing, Fiona repeated what she had told Leah, but she had lost her appetite. Her father would be furious when he heard what had happened, which he surely would now, and heaven knew what consequences would follow. Malvina continued to plead for details, so Fiona nearly thanked the lay brother who entered then and told her that the mistress of robes would speak with her now.
Rapping on Lady Sutherland’s sitting-room door a few minutes later and hearing her ladyship bid her enter, Fiona obeyed, shutting the door behind her.
Lady Sutherland sat on a back-stool near the small, sparely furnished room’s window embrasure. She gestured to her stool’s twin a short distance away.
“Sit ye doon, Fiona-lass,” she said. “A matter has come tae me attention that requires explanation. I thought we should discuss it afore ye attend tae your duties.”
“Aye, sure, madam,” Fiona said, sitting obediently and folding her hands in her lap. She hoped her ladyship would thus fail to see that her nerves were on edge.
Knowing only what Leah and Malvina had told her, she was uncertain of how harmful the incident between Caithness and Sir Àdham might be to her.
Lady Sutherland smiled warmly. “I dinna think ye did wrong. But I did hear wild tales of summat occurring yestereve whilst ye were returning tae our table.”
“An incident did occur, madam, but naught that endangered anyone or that I would be unwilling to explain.”
“Good, then simply tell me what happened.”
Simply? Fiona wondered. Could a knight of the realm striking a noble member of the royal family ever be considered a simple occurrence?
Keeping that thought to herself, she explained briefly what had happened and why. She took care to include the apology that Caithness had so promptly and sincerely offered her and her willing acceptance of it.
When she finished, Lady Sutherland smiled as warmly as she had before.
Fiona felt her tension ease.
Then her ladyship said cheerfully, “I see exactly how it was, me dearling. We must hope now that I shall describe it just as plainly tae her grace.”
That same morning, after breaking his fast, Àdham walked with his squire to the Ormiston House stable. As they turned into Curfew Row, MacNab said, “There be some grand houses in this town, aye, sir?”
“It is a royal burgh and the capital of the country,” Àdham reminded him, although he did agree that few, if any, houses in Inverness—also a royal burgh—would compare to those along Curfew Row. None was palatial, but all were built of stone, and many possessed glazed windows.
St. John’s Town itself was no larger than Inverness or Nairn, although neither—nor any other Highland town—boasted a wall. St. John’s Town even smelled much the same as the others, since all three towns sat near the sea.
When they reached Ormiston House, they went straight into the stable, where two of its occupants greeted Àdham with near delirium. He dissuaded the dog from propping its dirty forepaws against his thighs only by catching the paws.
“Down, sir,” Àdham said in a tone that received instant obedience. “As for you,” he said to young Rory, who was fairly dancing in his eagerness to impart news of evident import, “Stand properly before you speak to me.”
“Aye, sure,” the boy said as he planted his feet together on the ground and stood rigidly straight. “But I’ve taught Sirius a trick, and I did think ye’d want tae see it. I fetched this old cap o’ yours, tae teach him.”
“Show me, then.”
“First, ye ha’ tae go out and hide. I’ll keep Sirius here till ye’re hid.”
Looking at Duff, who grinned and nodded, Àdham said, “Very well.” He went quietly to the garden where he had walked with Fiona, shut the picket gate after himself, and crouched behind one of the hedges. Through its branches, the next thing he saw was Sirius leaping over the gate. The dog ran straight to him.
Rory followed, shouting, “The lad is grand, is he no? I taught him tae seek ye oot, but I wasna sure he’d fetch ye as easy as he fetched yer old cap.”
“Very clever,” Àdham said. “Are you behaving yourself?”
“I think so, aye,” he said, shooting an anxious look over a shoulder at Duff.
The equerry said, “I’m pleased enough, sir. He’s made hisself useful to Lord Ormiston’s people, too.”
“MacNab and I are going onto the Inch for target practice. If anyone comes looking for us, that is where we’ll be.”
They left at once, and as they crossed the red bridge on their way to the archery butts at the far end of the Inch, Sir Robert Graham’s image rose in Àdham’s mind. Aware, as he was now, of where his uncle’s sympathies lay, Àdham wondered if the man had taken any part in the parliamentary ructions.
Meantime, Sir Robert’s evident belief that he could command his nephew’s behavior had irked him. Furthering their kinship, he decided, would be unwise.
In any event, he and MacNab could pass a few hours honing their skills with their weapons. Afterward, they might wander along the riverbank to explore more of the nearby landscape than either had yet seen.
For a time, they alternated rounds of a friendly archery contest with fierce, albeit ever-heedful, swordplay. Then, shortly after midday, as MacNab was returning with the arrows they had just shot, he shouted, “Yonder, sir! I think that’s our laddie a-coming!”
Turning, Àdham saw Rory running full pelt the length of the Inch toward them. Accepting his own arrows from MacNab and slipping them into his quiver, he unstrung his bow as he strode to meet the boy.
“What is it, lad?” he asked.
“His lordship,” the boy gasped out before pausing to snatch a breath.
“Ormiston?”
“Aye, he sent me tae tell ye he would speak wi’ ye straightaway.”
Suspecting that the boy might have committed a mischief, Àdham said, “Do you know why he wants to speak with me?”
Shaking his head fiercely, Rory said, “Nae, and ye needna look at me so, neither. I’ve done nowt save what Duff or them others tell me tae do.”
“Then I beg your pardon if I looked as if I suspected you’d been up to mischief. I cannot think how such a notion entered my head.”
Grinning, the boy said, “Me neither. But his lordship does want ye. Mayhap ye’re the one what’s been up tae mischief, aye?”
“Mind your tongue, lad,” Àdham said. As he said it, he grimaced, realizing that Ormiston had likely heard about the incident with Caithness.
Rory’s eyebrows flew upward. “Sakes, what did ye do then?”
Giving him a stern look, Àdham said, “I did naught that could shame me. Moreover, if I had, it would be nae concern of yours, would it?”
Rory gazed thoughtfully, even skeptically, at him until Àdham said softly, “Do you want to debate the point until you irk me?”
“I do not,” the boy said firmly. “But ye shouldna look so if ye havena been up tae summat, ’less ye want folks tae think ye have.”
“Enough,” Àdham said firmly.
Rory nodded. “Should I go wi’ ye or stay here wi’ MacNab?”
“We’ll all go,” Àdham said, waving for his squire to join them.
When they reached Ormiston House, Àdham sent the other two to the stable. “I’ll send for you, MacNab, when I’m ready to return to the alehouse,” he added.
“Best slick your hair doon afore ye go in,” Rory said. “It be all a-tangle.”
When MacNab hid a grin, Àdham said curtly, “The pair of you would do well to seek shelter in yon stable now.”
Watching them walk away, Àdham tugged off the string he used to tie back his hair and ran his fingers through the tangles, wondering bleakly if everyone in St. John’s Town considered himself, or herself, an authority on men’s hair.
Hoping that, if Ormiston had heard about his striking Caithness, he’d heard at least a semblance of the truth, Àdham drew a breath to restore his calm and retied his string as he approached the house. The door opened just as he reached it.
A man he’d not seen before said, “Sir Àdham, I am his lordship’s steward. His lordship awaits you in the rear chamber. He said you know your way.”
“I do, aye,” Àdham replied, whereupon the man stood aside to let him pass.
Pausing at the closed door of Ormiston’s room, Àdham heard his host’s invitation to enter before his knuckles touched wood to rap.
Inside, he found his lordship coming to his feet.
“We need no ceremony, sir,” Àdham said. “You told my lad to hie himself, so just tell me how I may serve you.”
“The summons was not solely mine,” Ormiston said with a rueful smile. “His grace awaits us at Blackfriars. ’Tis he who would speak with you.”
“Is this about last night, sir? Because if it is . . .” He let the sentence die when Ormiston shook his head.
“You need explain naught, Àdham. I ken fine how it was.”
“But one does not go about knocking cousins of his grace on their backsides . . . not with impunity, at all events.”
“There may be consequences, aye,” Ormiston admitted. “But his grace awaits us. Shall we go?”
There being only one answer to that question, Àdham accompanied him to the monastery chapel.